


chemistry is good when you make love with it

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Divergence, Confessions of love, Eddie lives AU, Flashbacks, Future Fic, Growth, M/M, Pining, Sobriety, not quite linear timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-28 10:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Richie’s got a show in New York, home of none other than Eddie Kaspbrak. They’ve got some unfinished business to take care of.





	chemistry is good when you make love with it

**Author's Note:**

> listen so a Happy Gilmore quote came up on my timehop and that inspired this and that's all I can really say on that. 
> 
> big thanks to Hannah for beta'ing, as always! 
> 
> enjoy!

> _ “Eds,” Richie slurs. How does he manage to slur a three-letter word? That’s like a special skill. His head is swimming, including his vision, including Eddie who’s standing before him looking surprised. _
> 
> _ “Richie, Richie I need you to focus.” _
> 
> _ Richie blinks and squints. “I’m focused.” _
> 
> _ Eddie lets out what sounds like a hysterical laugh. “No, you’re not.” _
> 
> _ “On you? Always,” Richie says as he steps forward. He manages not to trip and Eddie lets Richie wrap his arms around him. Richie presses his lips to the side of Eddie’s head. “I love you, Eds.” _
> 
> _ Eddie’s fingers clench in Richie’s jacket. “I love you too, Richie,” he says faintly. _
> 
> _ “Awesome,” Richie says, and then he’s bending to kiss Eddie. _

Richie drums his fingers anxiously on the handle of his suitcase. The escalator is slow, but Richie’s too nervous to try walking the steps on his own—especially once he catches sight of the soft mop of brown hair, waiting with a sign that says in perfect scrawl,  ** _ TRASHMOUTH TOZIER _ ** . Richie grins, fondness blooming in his chest.

He trips as he steps off the escalator and Eddie is still laughing at him by the time they’re within arm’s reach of each other.

“Eddie,” Richie breathes. He finally uncurls his hand from his suitcase and drops his messenger bag at his feet. Eddie doesn’t drop the sign but he does spread his arms and then they’re hugging, clinging to each other, Richie’s face buried in Eddie’s hair and Eddie’s cheek pressed to the front of Richie’s jacket. “Fuck,” Richie says, feeling surprisingly choked up. “I’ve missed you.”

Eddie pulls back and smiles up at Richie. “Amazingly enough, I missed you too, Trashmouth.”

They smile at each other for a second longer before they both step back. Eddie reaches for Richie’s messenger bag and Richie grabs the handle of his suitcase once more.

“So,” Richie drawls as they head toward the exit. “You’re looking good.”

Eddie is a few steps ahead of Richie but he can still see the way Eddie’s ears pink. “You too,” Eddie replies without looking back. “C’mon, the car is this way.” Eddie’s pace picks up, and Richie quickens his already lengthy strides to keep up.

Richie bites back a sigh. It’s been a year since he’s seen Eds, but it feels like longer. Probably because for the first couple months after they were last together, they weren’t exactly  _ talking _ . Richie maintains that’s a totally normal thing to happen when two grown men confess their attraction for one another and then agree not to act on it, but Beverly keeps telling him he’s an idiot.

Richie thinks she might be on to something.

“Have you talked to any of the other Losers about my special?” Richie asks, a bit louder since he’s feeling lazy and has let Eddie get quite a ways ahead of him.

Eddie notices, and stops abruptly. He whips around to stare at Richie. “We don’t have all day,” he chides before adding, “No, I haven’t asked the Losers about your special. And I haven’t looked up reviews, or clips, or anything. I’m ready to be rocked by your first comedy special that you’ve written all by yourself.”

Richie grins. “Good.”

That’s the most special part of this routine, probably. That Richie wrote the whole thing himself. Sure, he got help from a couple friends as far as feedback, timing, all that—but the jokes are all his own. Including his big opener: coming out as gay, on stage. The tabloids have already gotten ahold of it, because nothing spreads faster than word of mouth, but Richie still thinks the joke kills.

“Earth to Trashmouth,” Eddie says, and Richie realizes they’re in the parking garage beside a sleek black Kia. “You wanna put that in the back or keep it with you?” He asks, nodding to the bag swung over Richie’s shoulder. Eddie has a hand poised to close the trunk.

“With me works,” Richie says as he heads toward the passenger side door.

The interior of the car is just as squeaky clean as he expected, no sign of dust on the dash or garbage on the floor. It even smells lemony fresh, and Richie covers up his laugh with a cough.

Eddie eyes him. “You aren’t sick, are you?”

“Sick on the biggest tour of my career? I’d rather die,” Riche replies.

Eddie scowls. “Not funny, asshole.” Eddie turns away to buckle his seatbelt and start up the car.

Richie, already buckled, twiddles his thumbs in his lap. “Sorry, Eds,” he says.

There’s a heavy pause as Eddie carefully backs out of the parking spot and gets them out of the parking garage, a slow but sure process full of short-stops and Eddie grumbling under his breath. Eddie doesn’t speak again until they’re on the freeway.

“It’s fine,” he says in a rush. He chews on his bottom lip, eyes focused on the road. Richie can’t look away from his profile. “I’m the one who almost died, not you.”

Richie swallows a groan. “Jesus, Eds. Right to the heavy shit.”

“Sorry!” Eddie half-shouts. “Sorry, I…I feel like I don’t know how to be around you,” he admits in a smaller voice. “It’s been a weird year.”

Richie leans his head against the glass despite the way it rattles his skull. “You’re telling me.”

> _ “I can’t do this,” Eddie says, looking frantic. _
> 
> _ Richie’s head is pounding, he’s so fucking hungover; he needs a fucking drink, but he needs Eddie to chill the fuck out first and foremost. He follows Eddie around the house him and Myra used to share, before she packed up and moved out a few months ago. “Eddie, please, stop for one fucking second.” _
> 
> _ “You  _ kissed _ me, Richie!” Eddie shouts. He looks at Richie with a wild look in his eyes, the kind he used to get when they were kids and he wanted to do something stupid but was scared of what his mother would say. Richie’s always been that ‘something stupid,’ he thinks. “We can’t just, just not talk about this!” _
> 
> _ “I’m not suggesting we  _ not _ talk about this! I just need you to shut the fuck up for five seconds and sit the fuck down! My head is going to explode if I don’t stop moving and you don’t stop yelling.” _
> 
> _ Eddie freezes. Apologetically, he says, “Sit down. I’ll grab you some water and aspirin.” _
> 
> _ Richie thinks for a moment that Eddie might make a break for it if Richie doesn’t keep him in his sights at all times. Then he decides he’s being ridiculous, and practically falls onto the couch. He listens to Eddie wander away and moans in relief when he can bury his face in a couch pillow, blocking out the late morning sunlight. _
> 
> _ “You’re a mess, Richie,” Eddie says quietly as he returns. Richie struggles to lift his head without wincing and takes the glass of water and two pills from Eddie, downing them both in a matter of seconds. “That’s not healthy.” _
> 
> _ “I’m fine. I just went a little overboard last night. That has nothing to do with me kissing you.” _
> 
> _ Eddie drops into the armchair by the couch. “Doesn’t it?” _
> 
> _ Richie shakes his head vehemently and immediately regrets the action. Cradling his head and staring at the carpet, he says, “No, it doesn’t. I’ve wanted to kiss you since, fuck, probably since I met you.” _
> 
> _ Eddie inhales sharply, but Richie keeps talking. _
> 
> _ “And okay, maybe I started drinking last night because I was nervous, because I had finally convinced myself to tell you how I feel. But I didn’t kiss you just because I was drunk. I wouldn’t do that to you, Eds.” _
> 
> _ Eddie gulps. His hands sit in his lap, freakishly still. Richie groans. _
> 
> _ “Please fucking say something before I walk into traffic.” _

Richie startles out of his daydream—or memory, rather—when the car slams to a halt.

“What the fuck, asshole!” Eddie shouts out the window, arm waving angrily at whatever car they’re passing. Richie snickers, and laughs harder when Eddie whips around to scowl and tell him, “You shut the fuck up, dick.”

“You’re so cute when you’re riled up, Eds.”

The angry, mottled blush on Eddie’s cheeks spreads to the rest of his face and his ears. “Shut up, Richie.”

Richie shrugs. “Just stating a fact.”

“You can shove your ‘facts’ up your ass.”

“I can think of something else you could shove--!”

The car swerves and Richie slams against the door, air knocked out of his lungs.

“Fucking Christ, Eds!”

“Traffic,” Eddie says, but he’s smirking.

“And you call  _ me _ an asshole? Sheesh.” Richie shakes his head but can’t deny the simmering warmth in his chest. Things are still awkward, one wrong step away from crumbling under the weight of all the shit they’re not talking about. But for now, for this moment at the very least, things are good. Familiar.

Richie reaches down to push the seat back and give his legs room to stretch out, though he’s still feeling cramped even when the seat’s pushed back as far as it’ll go. It’s still worth it for Eddie’s squawk of surprise when Richie goes rocketing back in the seat.

“How are you liking your apartment?” Richie asks when the silence finally starts getting unbearable. “Sorry I couldn’t fly out and help with the move.”

“You’re a lunatic,” Eddie tells him seriously. “Bill only helped with the move because he was out here for a book signing, he didn’t fly out here  _ just _ to help me pack.” Eddie taps his hands on the steering wheel as he impatiently stares up at the light. “But it’s good. It’s nice to have a space that’s just…mine, y’know?”

Richie nods. “Felt like that when I got my first place without roommates.”

> _ Eddie glares at him and it’s then that Richie realizes Eddie’s eyes are shining. “I love you, asshole. You can’t blame me for thinking you getting shit-faced and you kissing me are connected.” _
> 
> _ Richie holds up his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. But I meant it. I’d kiss you again right now if I wasn’t convinced I’m about to throw up any second now.” _
> 
> _ Eddie wrinkles his nose. “I love you,” he repeats, although he sounds long-suffering about it. “But…” _
> 
> _ Richie’s heart drops into his stomach. _
> 
> _ “But we can’t do this,” Eddie finishes. “My divorce isn’t even finalized.” _
> 
> _ “So? It’s not like you’re going to suddenly change your mind and take her back.” _
> 
> _ Eddie shakes his head. “No, but…But I need time for myself, you know? I’ve been with her for fifteen years up until now, that’s a long fucking time to be with someone, Rich. I need to figure out my shit without Myra—without anyone, like  _ that _ , for a bit. Maybe I’ll get a new place, or something.” _
> 
> _ “Get bangs,” Richie pipes up in a hoarse tone, rewarded only by Eddie’s tentative smile. _
> 
> _ “And…” Eddie starts. _
> 
> _ “Spit it out, Eds. The suspense is killing me.” _
> 
> _ “Your drinking.” _
> 
> _ Richie blinks. “Seriously, Eddie, last night was--?” _
> 
> _ “Not a fluke,” Eddie says, taking the words right from Richie’s mouth. “I saw you at Ben and Beverly’s wedding.” _
> 
> _ “That was Vegas! It’s like, required!” _
> 
> _ “I saw you at Bill’s book launch, too.” _
> 
> _ Richie’s reply catches in his throat, useless. _
> 
> _ “And I’ve seen the tabloids and articles and paparazzi…” Eddie looks away with a sigh. “I love you,” he says. “But you’re kind of out of control, Richie.” _
> 
> _ “Okay,” Richie replies. “Then I’ll stop.” _

“Casa de Spaghetti,” Richie drawls as he slips into the apartment behind Eddie. “Not bad, not bad.”

“I hate you,” Eddie says as he lugs Richie’s suitcase down the hallway.

“I could’ve gotten that, Eds.”

“You’re a guest! And stop fucking calling me that!”

“I’m also Trashmouth Tozier, I feel like normal hospitality rules don’t apply here.” Richie peers into the living room, nodding approvingly. The last place was drab, empty, looked sad after Myra left, somehow. This is brighter, with a pristine white couch and deep, cherry-wood coffee table with a glass center. Against one wall is a modestly sized television, and the entertainment center it sits on is littered with photographs.

Richie catches sight of one of him and Eddie, at Bill’s book launch not too long after they left Derry.

“You’re right,” Eddie says, suddenly at Richie’s side. “They don’t really apply, what was I thinking? Also take off your fucking shoes, you’re gonna get dirt everywhere.”

“Yes, mother,” Richie says as he toes out of his shoes and leaves them in a crooked stack near the door. “So what’s on the docket for fun, Dr. K?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I need to do laundry.”

Richie stares at him, but Eddie’s posture and expression are unwavering. “You’re serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? What, did you think I had something special planned for your trip?” Eddie’s lips are twitching though, giving him away. Richie doesn’t call him on it quite yet.

“I’ve got something special planned, so, yeah. Kinda.” Richie grins as Eddie’s face shifts from smug to shocked.

“What?!”

“A special thing, for the two of us. It’s a surprise.”

Eddie pinks again. “When?”

“Tomorrow before the show.”

Eddie shifts from foot to foot. “Do I need to dress up?”

“Nah. I look like a homeless guy on stage half the time anyway, so whatever you wear will look Oscar-worthy next to me, probably.”

“Shut up, you look good in your specials.”

Richie arches an eyebrow. “You watch my specials, Eddie Spaghetti?”

Eddie’s mouth shuts with a click.

> _ “So,” Richie says. “What do we do now?” _
> 
> _ “You’re going to board your flight, and go home, and…we’ll just be normal. For right now.” _
> 
> _ “For right now?” Richie repeats, incredulous. “And then what, you go to a tarot card reading to see if it’s time for us to talk about this or not?” He gestures between them. _
> 
> _ “Richie,” Eddie sighs, tired. “We just gotta give it some time, okay? Take some space, clear our heads. Let me finalize my divorce and get a new place. You…You take care of your shit, okay? And then we’ll figure it out.” _
> 
> _ Riche doesn’t like that answer. He didn’t like it when they agreed on it in Eddie’s living room and he doesn’t like it now, here at the airport, where he’s about to get on a plane back to LA and across the country from Eddie. _
> 
> _ “Fuck, Eds. I don’t wanna screw this up.” _
> 
> _ Eddie’s expression softens. “You won’t.  _ We _ won’t.” He takes a hesitant step closer and leans up, pressing a kiss to the corner of Richie’s mouth. The kiss is so quick, it’s over before he can really react. “Fly safe, okay? Text me when you land.” _
> 
> _ “Got it, Eds,” Richie says, feeling dazed. _
> 
> _ Eddie smiles. “Don’t call me that.” _

They end up getting takeout and sitting at the dining room table, because Richie knows himself, and knows he wouldn’t be able to avoid spilling on that pristine white couch. The same not-quite-awkward silence from earlier looms over them like a storm cloud until Eddie speaks.

“So, what’s tomorrow going to be like?”

Richie swallows his bite of sesame chicken. “I’ll go in mid-morning or so to make sure the sound and everything is good, run a couple rehearsals to make sure everything is how it should be. Shit like that.”

“Do I get to go to that?” Eddie picks at his fried rice, clearly aiming for nonchalance but failing miserably.

“Nope,” Richie says cheerily. “You get to come by around seven. Doors open at eight, so we don’t have a ton of time, but that’s alright.”

Eddie taps his fork against his box. “You’re really not gonna tell me what the plan is?”

“I barely have a real  _ plan _ as it is. It’s really more of an idea.”

“Oh, great,” Eddie says. “You’re giving me an  _ idea _ .”

“I have the  _ best _ ideas,” Richie counters with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Eddie flips him off. A few minutes later, in a softer voice, he asks, “Are you heading to your next city after the show?”

“Not till Monday morning,” Richie says. “So I’ve got the weekend here, if that’s cool.”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, of course. That’s great.” Then, under the table, he hooks his ankle with Richie’s for a moment, the gesture sweet and companionable. When Eddie shifts away again, Richie mourns the loss of touch.

> _ “What do you mean you haven’t spoken to him in two months?” Bill shouts over the phone. _
> 
> _ “He hasn’t spoken to me either! It’s not like I’m ignoring him!” _
> 
> _ “What the fuck?!” _
> 
> _ “Bill,  _ please _ stop shouting.” Richie rubs at his head, tipping it back to rest along the back of his couch even though it’ll give him a crick in his neck later. _
> 
> _ “Are you hungover?” Bill asks cautiously. _
> 
> _ “No.” Richie swallows around his dry mouth. “I told Eddie I’d get sober. So I’m just suffering because I want a fucking drink because Eddie hasn’t called or texted me since I messaged him to let him know I got back to LA safe.” _
> 
> _ Bill is quiet on the other end of the line. “What happened, Richie?” _
> 
> _ Groaning, Richie opens his mouth. Just as he’s about to start the story—the one that thrills him as much as it makes him sick—his phone beeps with an incoming call. “Hang on, Big Bill,” he says before pulling his phone from his ear to look. _
> 
> ** _ Incoming Call: Eddie _ **
> 
> _ “Gotta go,” Richie says before hanging up on Bill unceremoniously. He answers Eddie’s call barely a second later. “Eds?” _
> 
> _ “Hey, Richie.” _

“You sure I can’t come in right now?” Eddie says.

“Positive!” Richie shuts the door but leans on it, sticking his head in through the window. “Just get here at like a quarter to seven. Go do your fucking laundry or something.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Fine, jackass.” Even as he speaks, he’s grinning.

“See you in a couple hours, Eds!”

Eddie drives away flipping Richie the bird.

> _ “I think we should just play it by ear,” Eddie says. _
> 
> _ Richie is eyeing the bottle of vodka sitting on his liquor cart. “Okay,” he says. _
> 
> _ “Okay?” _
> 
> _ “Yeah, Eds. Okay. Whatever you want.” Richie taps his fingers uncertainly on his knee. “I’m sober, you know? Two months. Haven’t had a drink since that night.” _
> 
> _ “That’s good, Richie. That’s really good.” _
> 
> _ “How’s the apartment hunting coming along?” _
> 
> _ “Good!” Eddie sounds chipper, latching onto the distraction. “Bill might be able to help with the move, it’s looking like my move will overlap with a book signing.” _
> 
> _ “That’s good. I could fly out, if you wanted.” _
> 
> _ “No, Richie, that’s alright.” There’s something more than polite rejection in Eddie’s tone. Something that sounds like “you know better” or “we really shouldn’t” or maybe, even, “I don’t trust myself if you’re here.” _
> 
> _ Richie swallows. “Right. Play it by ear,” he says, answering the unspoken words. _

“C’mon, it’s this way,” Richie says as he holds out a hand to Eddie. Eddie takes it and lets Richie guide him through the winding hallways of the theater.

It’s nothing special, really. Looks the same as a million other theaters Richie’s performed in over the years. But Eddie’s hand is warm and soft in Richie’s own, and his footsteps are quiet like his breathing, and Richie’s never felt happier—or more scared.

“Is the surprise just a tour of the theater?” Eddie asks, though he doesn’t sound disappointed.

“Kind of. Try not to think of how many germs there are here.” Richie laughs when Eddie shrieks with disgust and gets that much closer to Richie, almost so they’re tripping over each other’s feet. “Not much longer now. Like I said, we don’t have a ton of time, but it shouldn’t be an issue.”

Eventually they reach the doorway that takes them into the wings, where the large, deep red curtains hang from the enormously tall ceiling. Richie pulls Eddie along until they’re standing in the wings. Music starts, soft and getting louder with each passing second, but it’s still subtle, just like the lights aimed at the stage.

Richie pulls him to the dead center of the stage and just grins at Eddie, illuminated by gold and white light. Richie realizes this is as far as his plan goes, and his mind is blank, and he can’t stop staring at Eddie’s face. Thankfully, Eddie saves him.

“Richie,” Eddie says, looking bashful and a little warm under the stage lights. Richie bites back a grin when he realizes Eddie hasn’t recognized the music playing yet. “I thought we agreed to be just friends?”

Richie licks his lips before replying, “What? Friends listen to ‘Endless Love’ together in the dark!”

It takes a moment before recognition flickers across Eddie’s face. First, he looks up at the dim lights—okay, so it’s not quite total darkness, but it’s close enough—and then he peers around Richie as if to look toward the box, as though he could he could see whoever’s manning the music (some stage hand interning at the theater. Richie paid him twenty bucks to queue the song up on repeat once they hit the stage). Then, finally, eyebrows drawn together in a glare and lips pursed, Eddie looks at Richie.

“Did you just fucking quote  _ Happy Gilmore _ at me?”

Richie grins wider. “Why, is it working? I’ve got a whole arsenal at my disposal.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” Eddie’s face shifts from annoyance to something softer. “Rich,” he starts, but Richie talks over him.

“Look, I know what we agreed on. But that was a year ago. Things were different then.  _ I _ was different then, and you sure as shit were too. You’re divorced, I’m sober, and I know I’m still in love with you as much as I was when we were thirteen years old.”

Eddie’s breathing catches and Richie chances a step closer. He brings his arms up to take Eddie’s shaking hands. 

“I love you, Eds. I always fucking have, and I’m pretty sure I always fucking will. And I’m so sick of waiting for something that’s gonna make both of us happy if we just get our shit together and take a chance.”

Richie barely has a chance to finish his sentence before Eddie is leaning up to kiss him. Richie trips over nothing at the feeling of Eddie’s lips on his before steadying himself and wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist. Eddie loops his arms over Richie’s shoulders and presses up into the kiss, humming into it.

Richie opens his mouth and Eddie wastes no time before deepening the kiss. Eddie licks into his mouth and Richie realizes his knees are buckling and he clings tighter to Eddie’s hips. “Jesus, Eds,” he says as the kiss breaks for a split second.

Against his lips, Eddie murmurs, “Don’t call me that.” 

They kiss for a few minutes until their lips are hurting and their lungs are burning. Softly, Eddie says, “So, your big plan was to take me on stage, quote Happy Gilmore at me, and kiss me?”

“When you put it that way, it sounds fucking stupid.”

“That’s because it is.”

“But it  _ worked _ .”

Eddie grins wide. “Yeah, it did. It’s still stupid though.”

“Would you expect anything less?”

“Not even a little bit.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [check me out on tumblr, and give this fic a reblog maybe!](https://punk-rock-yuppie.tumblr.com/post/187972821581/chemistry-is-good-when-you-make-love-with-it)


End file.
